


sean vs the homo sapien's agenda

by challaudaku



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Book: Simon Versus the Homo Sapiens Agenda, M/M, Simon vs AU, hhaha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/challaudaku/pseuds/challaudaku
Summary: Anonymous submitted to Newsies High Anonymous:Because no one knows I’m gay.halfwaytoqueens replied:THIS.boyfrombrighton@gmail.com
Relationships: Spot Conlon & Albert DaSilva, Spot Conlon & Crutchie, Spot Conlon & David Jacobs, Spot Conlon & Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon & Medda Larkson | Medda Larkin, Spot Conlon & Racetrack Higgins, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 57
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is an au of simon vs the homo sapiens agenda, so if you know that, yeehaw. i hope you enjoy it!  
> okay LOOK i hate posting something if i havent completed it and i have most of this done but it's not finished and i'm WORKING on it okay. but i really really wanted to post it and i couldn't control the urge so HERE.  
> please give me feedback star eyes emoji

**Anonymous submitted to Newsies High Anonymous:**

_It feels suffocating, sometimes, being in my own life. It’s funny, because I can’t remember a time I_ _didn’t_ _feel like this, but sometimes I have these moments, when my friends look at me, and I know they love me, but it doesn’t really feel like they’re really seeing_ _me_ _. It feels like I’m a stranger in my own life._

 _And it’s sort of stupid that I feel like this, because I_ _know_ _I could make it all better. There’s this huge part of me that I’ve hid from everyone — from my family, from my friends, from_ _myself_ _— and sometimes I think that if I would just be able to say it… maybe everything would be okay. Maybe I would finally feel like I’m settled in my own life._

_Because, even though I know the people in my life will almost definitely accept me, no one knows I’m gay._

_I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to tell them._

**halfwaytoqueens replied:**

_THIS._

_boyfrombrighton@gmail.com_

_…_

Sean, for probably the fiftieth time in the past hour, refreshes his Gmail app.

“You okay, Spotty?” Jack says, poking him in the arm. Sean looks up at him and nearly drops his phone.

“Fine,” he says, resisting the urge to refresh his inbox again and kicking the back of Smalls’ seat instead, because he’s a child.

“ _Ma_!” Smalls complains, glancing over at their mother from the passenger seat, because _she’s_ a child.

“Sean,” Medda chastises, with no real conviction in her voice, keeping her eyes on the road. Smalls twists arounds from her spot in the passenger seat to stick her tongue out at Sean. Sean sticks his tongue right back out.

Jack pokes Sean’s arm again just to bug him, as their mother’s car slows to a stop in front of their school.

“Have good first day, boys,” Medda says, as both Jack and Sean unbuckle their seatbelts. Sean slips his phone into his pocket, making a mental note to check his email again later. Maybe there’ll actually _be_ something in his inbox by that point.

“Thanks, Ma!” Jack calls, heading out of the car. 

“Don’t get eaten in seventh grade, Badger,” he says, rapping on the back of Small’s chair and following Jack out. “You scared for eleventh grade, Jackie?” Sean asks, once he’s joined Jack, who’s staring up at the front of their school building.

“Do I look scared?” Jack asks with a little snort. Sean shrugs, because he’s not sure if he’s actually supposed to answer that. Together, they head into Newsies High.

“Let’s find Davey,” Jack says pretty soon after they’ve entered the building, grabbing Sean’s wrist and pulling him down the hall and through the seas of people there. “I haven’t seen him in like _three days_.”

“The horror,” Sean says, rolling his eyes, but letting Jack pull him along anyways. They’re nearly at the end of the first hallway when Jack stops them before they nearly slam into someone tapping away on their phone.

“Tones, if you don’t look up, you’re going to bump into someone way less friendly than us,” Jack says, knocking their friend on the forehead with his knuckles. Race looks up from his phone and grins when he sees that it’s Jack and Sean.

“Sorry, just sending an email.” Race waves with his phone before slipping it into his pocket. “I am _so_ glad to see you. I’ve been here since _six in the morning_.”

“Don’t get adopted by a teacher, next time,” Jack says, wrapping Race up in a hug. “Or at least stay by ours. You’ve done it enough by now that Ma doesn’t really care.”

“I would have, if I knew he was going to wake me up at five in the morning to get ready for school,” Race says into Jack’s shoulder. “He didn’t do this _last_ year,” he says, picking his head up and making a face. When Race and Jack pull away from each other, Race turns to Sean, who’s been standing awkwardly to the side, watching them.

“Hey, Spot,” he says, his tone nothing but pleasant. 

“Hi, Race,” Sean replies. They look at each other for a moment, and it’s still painfully awkward between them, after two years of this weird dance they’ve choreographed.

“I still don’t understand why you call him Race,” Jack says, looking between the two of them with a little crinkle forming between his eyes.

“And you never will,” Race says, grinning at Sean like it’s one big conspiracy and turning back to Jack, throwing an arm over his shoulder. Sean smiles back, for just a moment.

The moment is over quickly and then they’re just Sean and Tony, and they continue to act like they’ve been acting since they were freshmen — not _rude_ to each other, but just perfectly polite, like they weren’t friends before Race moved to their school, like the first time they met was in ninth grade when the teacher had called out _Antonio Higgins_ and Sean was faced with someone he hadn’t talked to in years.

“We’re finding Davey,” Jack tells Race, grabbing Sean’s wrist again, forgetting his momentary confusion and returning the action by slinging an arm over Race’s shoulder and starting to walk again, this time towards the cafeteria.

“Not Sarah?” Race asks, going along with them. Jack shrugs, rolling his eyes.

“Davey and Sarah go together, you know that,” Jack says as they walk into the room, suddenly surrounded by hundreds of other kids. “I don’t need to say both.”

Jack stops for a second, and Sean knows he’s scanning the room for some sign of his best friend. It’s like Jack’s superpower: finding Davey in a crowded room.

“Who’s that they’re sitting with?” Race asks, and Jack whirls around to a table on the far left of the room, where Davey and Sarah are sitting, along with Buttons and a girl with very pretty red hair that Sean doesn’t recognize.

“I don’t know,” Jack says, a little frown on his face as he slips his hand off of Race’s shoulder. “She’s very pretty,” he mutters, before heading over to the three of them.

Race and Sean glance at each other and come to a silent agreement that they should probably follow Jack before he scares off someone new. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.

“...And I’m Jack,” Jack is saying to the new girl as they get closer, “And that’s my dumbass brother Sean, and that’s my dumbass best friend, Tony,” he says, pointing to them in turn as they get closer.

From Jack’s side, Davey hits him in the arm. “I thought I was your best friend?” he asks, teasing.

“Tones is my _dumbass_ best friend,” Jack explains. “You’re my _smart_ best friend.”

Race hits him on the head. Davey grins at him stupidly. Buttons smacks Davey to get him to stop, which he does, albeit slowly.

“I’m Katherine,” the new girl says to them, smiling at them. Sean supposes that her already ignoring Davey and Jack being, well, _Davey and Jack_ is a good sign. Maybe Sarah needs another girl in their friend group.

“So, you’re new?” Sean asks, sitting down on Katherine’s other side. She nods, and Sean thinks that Katherine’s too long of a name. Kath, then. “Where are you from?”

“Sean, don’t interrogate her,” Jack says, leaning over to smack him. Sean smacks him right back. “You’ll scare her off.”

“You probably already flirted with her,” he says, which gets Kath laughing and Sean grinning, “If that didn’t scare her off, me asking her harmless questions won’t.”

“I’m from Queens. My dad’s teaching English here now, so we moved,” Kath answers, still smiling at Sean. He likes her already, he thinks. “You two are brothers?” she asks, looking between Jack and Sean on either side of her.

“Unfortunately,” Sean says at the same time Jack says, “Adopted.”

“How’s Manhattan treating you?” Sean asks back. He knows, from experience, how crazy it could be moving from one borough to another.

“Better, now that I’ve met you,” she replies quickly, and it fills Sean with so much _glee_.

“Ooooh, was that flirting?” he asks, a smile playing at his lips. “Because Kath, I don’t do flirting. You have the wrong brother.”

“I think you taking it as flirting says a lot, Sean,” Kath replies, and Sean’s throat feels a little bit funny.

“ _Hey_ ,” Jack says, interjecting and pouting. “You can’t leave _any_ girls for me, Spotty?”

Sean smiles along, but something inside of him does this little weird flip. He knows it’s a joke, but it tickles the back of his brain.

“Anyway,” Sarah says, shoving Sean off of his seat, nearly making him fall into Race before he catches himself and moves as far as he can get from Race without their friends thinking something’s weird. “Now that you’ve met almost all of the boys and haven’t ripped their heads off, _this_ is why I need you to be our friend. I need another girl.”

“Almost all?” Kath asks, looking around at the boys surrounding her. “There are _more_?”

Sean has to stop himself from laughing, because it’s not nice for him to make fun of someone who he just met, who’s potentially their friend. Besides, he gets it. Their friend group probably _is_ overwhelming 

“Charlie doesn’t really count,” Sarah says, giving Kath a little shrug with one shoulder. “He’s a good one.”

“Am I counted as a good one?” Buttons asks, looking sideways at Sarah and pointing a finger at her.

“You and Charlie are the _only_ good men I know,” Sarah assures him.

“Wait, _I’m_ not a good one?” Davey asks, sounding mock offended and holding a hand to his chest.

“You chose _Jack_ as a best friend,” Sarah points out as Jack makes a little choked noise in his throat. “No, you’re not.”

Usually Sean would laugh along with the rest of his friends, but for some reason his mind is still on Jack’s earlier comment. He’s not sure why it bothers him so much. Does he really flirt with girls a lot? Enough for Jack to say it like that?

“Wait a second,” Jack says, as if just realizing what Sarah said. He looks like he’s going to defend himself, but instead he just shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says, leaning against the table, his eyes scanning the cafeteria again. “Speaking of —” he says, pointing to the doors of the cafeteria.

Charlie’s just entering. In an attempt to get his attention, Jack stands up on his seat, waving. 

“Get off that chair, Kelly!” Mr. Wiesel calls, walking throughout the cafeteria, looking for kids to call out. Jack’s expression sours, and he looks like he wants to call something back, but Davey tugs on his pants leg, so he jumps down.

“Weasel,” he mutters, crossing his arms. His displeasure is forgotten easily, though, when Charlie approaches them. “Charlie!” Jack exclaims, getting up and engulfing Charlie in a big hug.

“Let me _breathe_ , Jack,” Charlie says, hugging Jack briefly before wriggling out of his grip. “Hey, guys,” he says to everyone else. Sean accepts Charlie’s hug. His presence makes Sean feel significantly calmer, and he forgets, for this moment, about everything else he’s been worrying about, about Race, about flirting with girls, about his empty email box. 

“This is Katherine,” Sarah says, pointing her out to Charlie. Charlie waves at her with a bright smile. “She’s new.”

“And you had the luck of meeting _them_ first?” Charlie says, taking his seat at the table. 

They’re all filled up at their table now when they have Katherine, Sean realizes, and Sean thinks back to his first day of middle school, of Jack dragging him to a table with Sarah, Davey, and Charlie and saying, “This is my new brother, probably, so I have to be friends him,” and that was that.

It’s weird to see how they’ve grown since then.

Race had joined their table after middle school. It had been the first day of ninth grade, when Jack had immediately become friends with him, as soon as they met. Jack had brought him to their table and said “This is Tony,” and their friend group grew.

Buttons had joined their table as Benny, until they all saw him flick buttons around between his hands in sleight of hand, making them disappear and immediately started calling him Buttons. Buttons had met Davey in the beginning of tenth grade, when Davey and Jack had had one of their rare fights and Davey had started talking to other people — or, other _person_ , in the form of Buttons.

And now there’s Katherine.

One person a year, Sean notes. He wonders who’s going to join them next year, then. They might have to share a seat if that happens. 

Sean falls into talking with his friends, and he almost forgets about how much he had wanted to check his email, wishing for something in there.

Almost.

…

As soon as Sean gets home, after eight agonizing minutes of his mother grilling him and Jack about their first day, he heads up to his room and whips out his phone. The service in his school’s cafeteria is terrible — always has been — so Sean hadn’t even tried to check his emails there. As for his classes, most of the teachers at Newsies High are terrible, and it just wasn’t worth it to Sean to get in trouble during his first day. Denton, his English teacher, would have probably been the only teacher to let him get away with being on his phone for a little bit, but Sean actually _likes_ English class, so he was actually paying attention.

Now, though, sitting on the edge of his bed, Sean opens his Gmail app. It loads for three painful seconds and then a new email _finally_ pops up.

The name reads, **Ant** , and the subject line reads, _Hi._

Sean takes a deep breath and he’s about to press on it, when his bedroom door swings open. Jack bursts into his room and Sean lets out a little yell and launches his phone across the room. 

“Hi, Jack,” Sean says, cringing at the sound his phone makes as it hits the ground. If it’s cracked, he’s forcing Jack to pay for it.

“Someone’s jumpy,” Jack notes, giving Sean a sideways look. Sean makes himself smile at his brother.

“You shocked me,” he tells Jack with a shrug, trying to make his breathing as even as possible.

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, and he sounds completely genuine. It’s warranted, Sean knows; he doesn’t _get_ jumpy. Sean considers telling him that he’d be much better if Jack would _leave_ , but he decides that it would be rude, even if it’s just towards Jack.

“Did you come in here for a particular reason, or just to annoy me?” Sean asks, ignoring the question entirely. 

Jack hesitates, regarding Sean for a second. He then shrugs, seemingly deciding that it’s not worth pushing Sean. “A little bit of both,” Jack says, moving fully into Sean’s room and perching himself on Sean’s desk. “Do you have Denton for English this year?”

“Always,” Sean replies, rolling his eyes a little bit. He’s thankful for it, though, because he doesn’t think there would be any other English teacher he’d like as much as Denton. Plus, he’s heard that the other English teacher for their year — Katherine’s father — is terrible. 

“Can I borrow your syllabus for the quiz thingy he’s having us do?” Jack asks, smiling big and innocent at Sean.

Sean would like to smack him.

“Do you ever keep track of your own things?” Sean asks as he gets up and goes over to his backpack, unzipping it and pulling out his binder. _A syllabus_. That’s what he was disrupted for. 

“Nah, that’s why I have you,” Jack says, pointing a finger gun at Sean as he gets the piece of paper. “Thanks, Spotty,” Jack says, hopping off of his desk and heading towards the door and leaving the room. Sean waits until Jack’s been gone for a few minutes before slamming his door shut and going to pick up his phone from the floor.

There’s no cracks in the screen — thanks to the magic of phone cases, he supposes — and it’s still open to the Gmail app. 

The email.

Trying to remind himself to breathe, Sean taps on it.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Aug 27 at 7:23 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Hi

_Okay, wow, hi, I am emailing you._

_I assume you replied to my post with that because you related? If so, I’m glad that there’s another closeted guy in our school. Sorry, I should’ve said person. I know that there are other sexualities. Are you a guy? I’m a guy. But it’s fine if you’re not._

_Anyway, I’ve been really wondering what to email you because it seems like SO MUCH pressure for some reason. But at the same time I thought it would be nice to have a gay friend? I mean I have a gay friend and a bi friend who are both completely out. But they don’t know I’m gay. And also I don’t have a closeted friend, because that would defeat the whole purpose of being closeted?_

_I’m sorry. I’m rambling._

_But my point is, I want to be friends with you. So… yeah._

_I’m sorry if this is weird but I’d rather not use my real name because… you know, the whole closet thing. So you can call me Ant :)_

_I’m assuming you’re from Brooklyn, based off of your email address? Because so am I. Like I hate Manhattan but also sorta love it but our school is just… not Brooklyn, you know?_

_Speaking of your email address, I am now realizing that you literally put ‘boy’ in it so… ignore my previous ramble? How about I just ask what your sexuality is? I’m gay but what about you?_

_—Ant_

.

Sean honestly isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but the sight of the email fills him with a weird jittery feeling. He taps the reply button, before realizing that he has no idea what to write.

Winging it works, he supposes.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Aug 27 at 3:56 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: Hi

_I half-expected to set up this email address for nothing. But oh my god I am SO glad you emailed me. I actually sort of threw my phone across the room when I saw the notification, but it’s not broken, so I won’t be suing you for damage to property, don’t worry._

_I am a guy, as you deduced. As for sexuality it’s… complicated? I haven’t really thought about it much before to be honest. I just know I’m not straight. Like it’s weird, because I’m attracted to some girls sometimes but then my brain is like “oh do you even like that girl or do you just think you do because society wants you to be heterosexual?” So then I’m like, oh I’m gay, but then I’ll look at a girl and be like… girl._

_I have a monkey brain, I’m sorry._

_To be honest, I’ve only been attracted to girls like… sexually. Which is a hell of thing to admit in a first email, sorry. But boys!! I love boys a lot and like I wouldn’t mind the idea of having sex with girl? But if I imagine my future, like getting married and starting a family, I one hundred percent see myself with a guy._

_So in conclusion I have no flipping fuck what my sexuality is. I mean, I think I would come out as gay. If I ever come out. Because I don’t think I would DATE a girl. Which means I’m gay?? And honestly that label feels the most right for me. But like???_

_I’m going to scream. You know college gays? Are there college straights? I think that’ll be me if I don’t like… have a boyfriend when I start college._

_This is so embarrassing to write and I’m just trying to type without rereading and then send it before I decide to delete everything and dig myself into a hole. Talk about rambling, huh?_

_Anyway. I would love to be your friend as well if I haven’t scared you off by this point. Nice to meet you, Ant. :)_

_AND YES I AM FROM BROOKLYN. I think I’ve met like ONE other person in our school from the GREATEST BOROUGH IN NEW YORK. I’m adopted and I know I should’ve been worried about like… being adopted when it was happening but instead I was more like :( I’m leaving Brooklyn._

_I love Brooklyn a lot. I miss it._

_So, I just wanted to ask also, what grade are you in? I’m a junior and I hate first days and I’m glad I only have one more left._

_Okay, I’m really going to send this now before I chicken outtttt._

_And by the way, you can call me Spot :)_

_—Spot_

.

Sean presses send before he can overthink any of it — him rambling about his sexuality for the first time… ever; him admitting that he’s from Brooklyn and that he’s adopted; him using his childhood nickname for this thing. He supposes he’s fine using his childhood nickname. There are like twenty people in the school who know him by Spot, so he’ll probably be fine.

Is this a Thing now, Sean wonders? Is Ant going to email him back? Is he going to email back after that?

Does Sean have an email thing now?

Honestly? He hopes so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter!!!! i'm so glad you guys are excited for this because so am i!  
> here's the second chapter as a thank you but fair warning - past this chapter i'm not 100% sure how im splitting up chapters so bear with me <3  
> also note the dates here :) time is.. moving.

**FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Aug 28 at 6:43 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: re: Hi

_BROOKLYNNNNNNNNNN._

_No, I get that, I love it too. I haven’t stepped foot in it in YEARS. I should take a trip there sometime. It’s literally a few train stops away but I just… haven’t brought myself to do it yet._

_If my rambling isn’t going to scare you off, your rambling isn’t going to scare me off._

_Please don’t throw your phone across the room. It’s not worth it for just an email from me. Please._

_Also, re: sexuality, I was going to say that I felt that, but I honestly don’t. I’ve always liked the idea of boys since I was little. It took me a while to figure out that it was because I liked them_ like that _but I don’t think I have ever liked a girl oops._

_But I also think that sexuality is fluid and I respect you just being gay or queer or whatever. Labels don’t matter unless you want them to, you know? :)_

_I’m also in eleventh grade! But I’m sort of the opposite from you because I love first days and you just made me really sad thinking about how we only have one more._

_I guess there’s always the first days of college though!!_

_—Ant_

_._

**FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 4 at 3:28 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Connection issues

_Have you ever noticed how bad our school’s connection is? Like the wifi in the classrooms works maybe 70% of the time and then the cafeteria? If you ever want to send a text in there, forget it._

_I’m saying this because I saw a notif from you and I wanted to open it SO BADLY but the freaking service is the WORST thing in the world so I couldn’t :(._

_Anyway, you’re becoming a real distraction to me, Ant. I’ve already been called out in class for being distracted but I was thinking about you._

_That’s embarrassing to admit AHHH. I’m not a cheesy person, I promise. I’m like the FURTHEST thing from cheesy._

_ANYWAY._

_I hate to admit that I’ve never seen a single Marvel movie before. Actually, I don’t hate to admit that. I’m not really into superhero movies — aren’t they just mindless violence? But yeah, sure, I agree, Team Cap all the way (though I’m not really sure why there are teams in the first place?? I’m a little bit confused about that plotline. Feel free to fill me in.)._

_—Spot_

_._

**FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 8 at 11:18 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: but if there WERE aliens

_The only aliens that exist are people from the Bronx._

_THEY JUST DO NOT EXIST. Like you literally cannot convince me otherwise. I do not CARE what you say. That’s just the TRUTH._

_Deal with it and weep._

_—Ant_

_._

**FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 10 at 6:49 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: Cookie crisps

_Something about sweet cereal makes my stomach feel weird. Like give me a bowl of cornflakes ANY day. I’m eating them right now :)_

_I do love cereal though, just not the artificial sugary thing. A sugar rush in the morning is not good, not at all. Neither is caffeine, honestly, and my brother drinks like at LEAST three cups of coffee a day. His head is going to explode one day and I… am going to laugh._

_I already know that you’re going to think I hate everything sweet now but I do like sweet things. Just not before I’ve brushed my teeth._

_—Spot_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com 

**TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 12 at 12:42 AM

 **SUBJECT** : English class…

_...is killing me._

_It’s KILLING me, Spot. I swear, I’m literally just going to drop dead from it. Like, I need to sleep, but this FREAKING essay is due tomorrow (or, today, I guess) and I already know I won’t have the time to finish it before class._

_Also, my stepdad refuses to read it over even though he majored in English. Like he KNOWS I hate the class and refuses to help me!_

_Okay, that’s an over exaggeration. I love my stepdad. He_ would _help me, honestly, if I hadn’t waited until 1AM to finish the essay and he wasn’t asleep. He_ does _refuse to read it over, but he would also help me with writing it if I would bother to start it before midnight on the night before it’s due._

_It’s times like these when I wish I went to like a fancy arts school. I could’ve probably gotten into one, also. I’ve been dancing since I was little and honestly having a dance class at school instead of an English class sounds like a dream._

_Mmmmm I wish I was dreaming right now._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 12 at 7:02 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: English class…

_I love English :(_

_I have Denton, and I’m assuming you do too because of the essay (which, by the way, I finished the day after we got it so I was blissfully sleeping last night). His class is honestly the only one in the school I actually like. If I had Pulitzer for English I think I would cry. Did you know his daughter goes to our school? She’s nice but like… I’ve heard that her dad is a little bit of a dickwad. My brother doesn’t even have him as a teacher but has managed to get in trouble with him several times._

_Maybe my brother is the dickwad. Jury’s out._

_And ooooooh dance! I don’t know a THING about dance but I know a lot about musical theatre and they can’t be all that different, right? Please don’t attack me for that. I’m just trying to relate to you._

_Also, I pretty sure that art schools still have English class, so all that going to an arts school would accomplish would be not meeting me :(_

_—Spot_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 13 at 11:49 AM

 **SUBJECT** : on the first day thing

_Okay, I still love first days, but I’ll give you think — it’s very jarring to have my teachers continually call me by my full name. I feel like most people in my life call me by a nickname and then most of my teachers are whipping out my full name right and left. It’s terrible._

_Other than that, I do love first days. I will give you no other points on this matter._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 14 at 3:05 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: i got internet

_For the love of all things holy, please don’t email me during class. I don’t CARE if you finally got connection, you need to pay attention in class!!!_

_I sound like a teacher._

_No, but if you get your phone taken away then you can’t email me when it’s not class time, so._

_—Spot_

_._

**FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 15 at 5:36 PM

 **SUBJECT** : I MIGHT CRY FROM TIREDNESS

_I just got home. Spot. I’m so tired. I’m so so tired. Please email me or I will fall asleep at 6PM and then my sleep schedule will be FUCKED up for the rest of time._

_Maybe I should drop some of the extracurriculars I’m doing._

_Nah._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 17 at 11:04 PM

 **SUBJECT** : I should be going to bed…

_…but instead I’m emailing you. Okay, sorry, this is the second time I’ve emailed you in a row and you’re probably sleeping (you SHOULD be sleeping because I KNOW how tired you’ve been and I swear to all the gods above that I WILLLLLL find you and force you to sleep. You do NOT want to fuck with me, please), BUT emailing you is SO much better than going to sleep._

_Honestly, I think you’d agree with me on this one, which is a nice thought._

_Is this weird to say? It probably is, but I’m gonna say it anyway. I feel honestly closer with you than I feel with anybody else in my life. Which like… we haven’t even been talking for a month, but for some reason you just click with me. I mean, I love my family, and I’ve known them for years, but I still don’t feel as close to them as I do to you. I guess it’s like you said in your Tumblr post — it’s like I’m a stranger in my own life because I’m not out. And nothing’s really different between us and between me and someone else in my life except that you know I’m gay. Somehow that makes all the difference._

_And because of you I just really want to come out to the people in my life. The thought makes me a little queasy, not gonna lie, but it’s SO much better being out._

_It’s not that I think that my friends and family wouldn’t accept me because I KNOW they would. My brother’s bisexual and we share a lot of friends, so I don’t think anyone who I actually care about would care about me not being straight, but it’s just…_

_I don’t want things to change._

_I spent a lot of my life with things changing a lot and I hated it. For the longest time, I wanted something permanent and it just never came. I wanted to be someone I actually liked being and I wanted to surround myself with people I actually loved, and who loved me back, and now that I’ve done that, I’m just scared of all of that breaking. Like I_ know _it’s irrational, but I sometimes just feel like everything I have is so delicately balanced, and one tiny push could send everything spiraling._

_Sorry, this got heavy. Feel free to ignore this hahahahahha._

_Anyway. I’m gonna go to bed._

_—Spot_

_._

**FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 18 at 3:49 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: I should be going to bed…

_PLEASE don’t ever apologize to me for getting heavy. Like it’s COMPLETELY fine and if you say you’re sorry I will smack you._

_I understand what you’re saying, honestly, about there being a delicate balance. For years, I had no relationship with my biological dad, and now I’m starting to have one again but it always has me really tense. I’m afraid that one wrong thing will ruin it all. And honestly? I think coming out would be that one thing. I’ve never touched the topic with him, but I don’t think he see being gay as a great thing. He’s not really open minded._

_But even besides for him, I understand exactly what you’re saying. I’m like 99.99% sure that my stepdad, who’s WAY more my father than my biological one, would accept me for being gay. And yet, I still don’t want to tell him, because what about that .01 percent? He didn’t have to take me in, but he did and I’m scared that eventually he’ll remember “Oh yeah, this kid isn’t_ actually _my kid. Bye!” I don’t think he would ever actually do that but, I’m still scared he will._

_Ha. And you say you get heavy._

_And my friends are the same. Like I know they would be fine with my sexuality, but some part of me is scared they won’t._

_Also, I don’t want it to be a Thing. Like I would much rather just have a boyfriend, kiss him, and then have everyone just figure it out. Why does coming out have to be this big thing, anyway? Like, why are people assuming I’m straight in the first place?_

_But… anyway._

_Here’s a question I haven’t asked yet that I’m pretty surprised I haven’t:_

_When did you first realize you were gay?_

_—Ant_

_._

**FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 20 at 11:04 PM

 **SUBJECT** : When I knew

_Sorry for the horribly late reply. I only just finished all my work. Turns out eleventh grade is… hard. Crazy._

_So, in conclusion, our anxiety is there for almost no reason and our brains both need to get with the program._

_As for when I first realized…_

_Honestly? I didn’t even_ fully _realize until I read your post and then I was like. Huh. Maybe_ I’m _gay._

_Before that, it was just a whole bunch of little things. Like, when my brother came out as bi to me, he went on this whole ramble about how he felt about boys and I found myself being like “wait I feel like that” but then I was always like “nah, that can’t be”. Or, like I mentioned before, I always picture myself with a guy, in the end, and (this is gonna sound RIDICULOUS) I honestly was always like “oh so I want to marry a girl who’s like ‘one of the guys’”. Like no, little me. You want to marry a GUY. And when people would talk about kissing girls I would be like “ehhhhh but like what about kissing a guy?” It was just a bunch of little things that I refused to actually see._

_How about you? Because you must’ve known this question was going to come._

_—Spot_

_._

**FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 21 at 8:37 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: When I knew

_I did know that question was going to come oops._

_I can’t believe I was basically your sexual awakening. That’s amazing. I’m going to lord that over you for the rest of time._

_Honestly, my realization was sort of the opposite of yours. I had this best friend when I was younger and I liked him a lot (like as MORE than a friend) but we lost touch before I realized that hey, I_ liked _him but we connected again a few years ago and I was like “oh I LIKE him” and then I was like oh I’m gay lmao._

_—Ant_

_._

**FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 21 at 4:29 PM

 **SUBJECT** : For the rest of time

_FOR THE REST OF TIME??_

_What, so we’re going to be friends forever now?_

_—Spot_

_._

**FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Sep 22 at 6:57 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: For the rest of time

_Yeah. I thought you knew that. I mean, I’ve known it for a WHILE. Catch up, man._

_—Ant_

…

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Jack says, throwing his pencil down onto the table. Sean looks up from his phone, frowning over, concerned at his brother.

“What, English?” Sean asks, because he knows that Jack’s in the middle of writing a paper for it, and he still won’t let Sean look it over for him, despite all of his complaints about it.

“ _No_ ,” Jack says, glaring at Sean like he’s the fault for Jack’s frustration. “ _You_! I can’t stand it anymore!”

“You can’t stand _me_?” Sean asks, looking around the room like there’s someone waiting to jump out at him and say that Jack’s kidding.

“Why are you so… _not_ Spot?” Jack says, shooting Sean a deep glare. Sean has no idea what he’s talking about. “Like you’ve been all smiley and mushy and so _not_ you for like a _month_. What _is_ it?”

Sean gapes at Jack for a second because he hasn’t been _mushy_. He is _Sean Conlon_. Not — well, not someone like _Jack Kelly_.

Then he looks back down at his phone, where Ant’s email is still open and he grins again.

Holy shit. He’s turning into Jack.

“I don’t know,” Sean replies, because answering truthfully would open a whole can of worms — would open him _coming_ _out_ , and he’s really not ready to do that. “I’m a happy person. Is that so hard to believe?”

Jack stares at him for a second, his mouth slightly agape.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, looking _very_ concerned for Sean.

Sean considers, for a crazy moment, coming out to Jack. Quickly, though, he decides against it. It’s not like he thinks Jack wouldn’t accept him for it — that would be hypocritical of Jack, seeing as he himself is biseuxal — but Sean’s scared of everything changing. Jack makes a big deal out of _everything_. 

Sean doesn’t want his sexuality to be a big deal because it’s _not_.

It simply _is_.

Sean shrugs at Jack, and then he looks back down at his phone and presses reply. He can hear Jack let out a frustrated sound, but Sean’s already drafting an email to Ant, so he doesn’t really care.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here you go

The seats at their lunch table have shifted. Usually, they sit in one specific order. Jack sits with Sean to his left and Davey to his right. On Davey’s other side is Sarah, and then next to her is Charlie. Next to Charlie is Buttons, and then Race, and then there’s an empty seat before it’s back at Sean.

Of course, with the addition of Katherine to their table, things didn’t really change; she just sat at the empty seat. Except Davey’s decided to screw with the order of everything. He had moved to the left, first, just one seat over. Sean had frowned when he saw that, but he had shrugged and ate in between Davey and Kath instead of Jack and Kath. 

Then, a few days later, Davey sits in Sean’s seat, so Sean sits between Davey and Jack, feeling a little bit confused.

The confusion doesn’t last long, not once he sees Davey and Kath talking to each other over their food, laughing at whatever they’re saying to each other, and just being so _easy_ together.

From his left, Sean can almost _feel_ Jack glaring at the two of them.

And, the next day, Race is sitting in Jack’s seat and Kath is sitting in between Jack and Davey. Sean’s the last one to show up — he usually is, with his last class before lunch, History, being on the other side of the building — and when he sees that his only option is to sit next to Race, he almost turns around and leaves. Maybe he could eat in the library.

Before he can leave, though, Race spots him and gives him a little wave. Sean makes his feet walk over to him and takes the empty seat next to Race.

“Jack wanted to sit next to Kath,” Race says, leaning in close to Sean and muttering under his breath. Sean ignores the fact that he could easily touch Race right now and have it seem accidental, and looks over at Kath, Davey, and Jack.

Jack is being _Jack_ , a big grin on his face as Kath laughs at something he’s said. Davey’s lips are pursed in a thin line, like he’s annoyed at Jack and Kath, but Sean knows he won’t say anything. Still, he inches a little bit closer to Kath, nearly against her side. Jack notices, just like Sean does, and his lips quirk down for just a second before bouncing back up and cracking another joke at Kath.

Sean glances back over to Race, asking a silent _what the hell?_ with his eyes. Race shakes his head and shrugs — he has no clue what’s going on between the three of them. Sean’s overcome with the want to say something else to Race, but he pushes the feeling down and focuses on his lunch instead. 

He can survive thirty minutes sitting next to Race.

… 

After lunch, Race and Sean don’t walk to class _together_ , but they have class together directly after lunch, so they walk in the same direction, from the same lunch table, at the same pace, only just vaguely walking together.

They both have English sixth period, with Denton, and Sean — well, it’s not like Sean _pays attention_ to Race, but he knows that English isn’t his favorite class. Sean doesn’t think it’s anything to do with the _subject_ and just more to do with the teacher. Denton had started fostering Race the summer before ninth grade, and he had officially been adopted last year. Spot figures that he’d feel the same if Medda taught one of his classes.

On the other hand, English is absolutely Sean’s favorite class. It’s definitely not completely because of the subject and mostly to do with the teacher. As soon as he stepped foot in high school, he had immediately chafed with every teacher. Denton was the only one who bothered to work with him and Sean hasn’t stopped appreciating that.

“Tony,” Denton says, as they walk into the classroom. Race pauses, and Sean does too, for just a second, before remembering that they aren’t _really_ friends and it’s not like they were _really_ walking together.

Sean goes to his seat, right in the front row, and he can’t help but hear Denton say to Race, “I have detention duty today, so you’ll have to stay late.”

“Fantastic,” Race deadpans, giving just the _slightest_ roll of his eyes. Denton sees it — Sean can tell by the faintest smile appearing on his face. Still, he doesn’t say anything about it, so Race turns around and starts walking to his seat.

His path to the back of the room takes him right by Sean, and Sean gets the urge to say something to Race — maybe offer him a ride home, or make a comment to tease him about having a teacher as his adopted father. Something that Jack would do.

Sean says nothing.

A few seconds before the bell rings, Sean looks over at the chair next to him — it’s still empty.

And, as always, Albert slides right into the seat next to Sean, grinning hard.

“Not late,” he says to Sean, poking him in the arm before Sean has a chance to say anything to him.

“Almost,” Sean says, pointing up as the bell rings overhead them. Albert looks like he’s going to say something else, his mouth still open, but Denton gets up at the front of the class. Albert goes quiet.

“Epistolary novels,” Denton says, writing it out on the board and underlining it. “Can anyone tell me what they are?”

Sean’s heard of them — and he thinks he could probably give a good answer, but it’s not like he’s actually going to _say_ something. The class is silent.

“Antonio,” Denton says, once the silence goes on for just a bit too long. “Mr. Higgins, can you give us a guess?”

Sean gives Race a backwards glance, and Race looks utterly displeased to be called on out of the blue. He sinks a little bit down in his chair, his lips pursed tight.

“No — uh, _sir_ ,” Race says, looking up at the ceiling instead of at Denton. Denton smiles faintly.

“I’m pretty sure I told you this last night,” Denton says, brandishing his whiteboard marker at Race. There are a few snickers around the room and Race sinks ever so lower.

“A novel written as a series of documents, usually letters,” Albert calls out from Sean’s left. Denton looks over to him, frowning, because Albert usually doesn’t answer questions in class. Albert shrugs, and then holds up his phone. “Wikipedia, Dent.”

“You’re correct, Mr. DaSilva, but no phones in class,” Denton says pointing over at him. Albert grins and slides his phone into his pants pocket.

“No offence, Dent, you know I love this class” — there are more snickers, including one from Sean himself, because _no one_ has ever gotten that impression from Albert — “but why use a big word to describe something that could be described easily?”

“Good question, Mr. DaSilva,” Denton answers, still faintly smiling. “It’s important to have a diverse vocabulary, because we’re past the fifth grade now. It’ll make you seem more intelligent, later in life.”

The class laughs again, trying to hide it, at least. Albert doesn’t seem deterred by it. They go through this nearly every class — Albert and Denton’s back and forth while Albert tries to waste as much class time as possible. 

“Dent,” Albert says, grinning even broader, “I will _never_ seem intelligent.” Everyone laughs again, and Sean can’t help himself from leaning over a bit and smacking Albert in the arm. Albert looks over at him, giving Sean a smile that makes Sean’s heart do a weird flutter.

“You’d be surprised, Albert,” Denton says, and this time his smile reaches his eyes. “I’ve graded your essays.”

For some reason, the thought of Albert actually being _smart_ is funnier than him making fun of himself. Albert’s smile drops and he frowns at Denton, crossing his arms. When everyone quiets down again, and Albert doesn’t say anything else, Denton gestures back into the whiteboard.

“As Wikipedia said,” Denton says, gesticulating at Albert, “an epistolary novel is a collection of documents. Why, you may ask, am I teaching you about this?” he asks, pausing, like he expects someone in the class to actually ask why. 

When no one does, Denton goes behind his desk and lifts up a couple of stack of books, putting them on his desk. The class groans — they haven’t had an assigned book yet this year, instead focusing on writing skills for the first few weeks.

“ _Dracula_ ,” Denton says, picking up a stack, “by Bram Stoker. Tony, can you help pass these out?” Race obliges, getting up from his seat and picking up the other stack. Denton starts to walk throughout the room, placing books on desks. “This book is an epistolary novel — probably one of the most famous ones. It’s a series of letters and journal entries, and it tells the story of Dracula.”

Once everyone’s gotten a book, Denton goes back to the front of the class and looks over at them.

“Can anyone tell me what _Dracula_ is about?” Denton asks everyone. No one raises their hands. “Jojo, _what_ is _Dracula_ about?”

“Vampires?” Jojo says, a few rows over from Sean, flipping through the pages of his book. 

“Technically correct,” Denton says, picking up his own copy of the book and leaning on the edge of his desk. “It’s about Count Dracula, who’s attempting to move from Transylvania to…”

Denton’s words fade into the background as Sean picks up his own copy of _Dracula_. He’s a pretty good student, at least in English, and he should be paying attention, but he’s thinking about his own life — his own epistolary novel.

He’s thinking of Ant.

… 

**FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 1 at 5:14 PM

 **SUBJECT** : SPOOKY SEASON

_I LOVE HALLOWEEN._

_THAT’S ALL._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 1 at 6:17 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_Wow. Thrilling email, Ant. I really love how conversational it was. Your words were beautiful. They really made me tear up._

_Also it’s literally October first. Calm down._

_—Spot_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 2 at 6:47 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_Um, I think something important to note is that it’s OCTOBER first. Halloween’s date has actually changed so that it’s multiple days. It’s just all of October now. Did you miss that memo?_

_Get with the times, loser._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 2 at 7:13 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_Uhhhhh I think you might be wrong with that, but… I’ll let it slide. For now._

_You might hate me for this, but I don’t like Halloween. It’s just… not really my thing?_

_—Spot_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 2 at 3:13 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_Message error: not sent_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 2 at 4:02 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_Ant :(_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 2 at 5:43 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_How do you not like Halloween????? Do you hate everything fun and enjoyable???_

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 2 at 9:26 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_I think you’re enjoyable and I don’t hate you? If that counts for anything._

_I’m just not so into the whole dressing up thing. And it’s not like I’m too old to trick-or-treat now, so there’s not even candy involved. Also, I am not so into parties, which is supposed to be what you do on Halloween when you’re a teenager._

_—Spot_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 3 at 7:18 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_This is where you’re wrong, Spot, because no one actually gives a shit if you go trick-or-treating. SO GET THAT CANDYYYYYY. Or, at the very least, buy all the candy that’s on sale after Halloween. That’s where the real profit is._

_And I love dressing up. I always have. I guess it’s just always been a comfort for me to wear a costume. I can pretend to be someone that’s not me, at least for a while._

_That was sad. Ignore that. I’m not sad, usually._

_Anyway… candy._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 3 at 5:38 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_(Is this a bad time for me to say I don’t really like candy?)_

_—Spot_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 4 at 9:12 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_I literally never want to talk to you again._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 4 at 9:16 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_I missed you :(_

_I guess we can see past our differences, at least for now. I will still be dressing up, though, and buying enough candy for both of us, just so I can have the pleasure of feeling sick afterwards._

_On the topic of Halloween, though, I am utterly disappointed by Dracula. I actually decided to read the book we were assigned for once, and it’s nothing like Hotel Transylvania so it’s a loss in my books._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 4 at 2:58 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_Wow, you lasted really long at ignoring me. I’m really proud of you._

_Did you really expect Dracula to be like the animated movie Hotel Transylvania? I’m not sure if I want to kiss or smack you for that. I love Dracula, actually. I love reading classics. I’ve actually read it before, and I sort of hate the over-analysis we have to do for class, but the book itself is enjoyable. Honestly, give it a chance, by itself. You might like it._

_—Spot_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 5 at 8:23 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_I like you too much to ignore you._

_I think you underestimate how much I dislike reading things. It’s not about the assignments I just suckkkkk at reading. I’m terrible at paying attention to things and I feel like I need to be doing more than one thing at a time. Reading just doesn’t pull me in enough._

_Um. Also._

_You want to kiss me? Maybe?? UM?????_

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 5 at 6:33 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: SPOOKY SEASON

_I like you too much to ignore you too, so I understand that._

_I understand what you mean about the paying attention thing, but find a book you love. Find something that’ll capture you. There are millions of books out there, so there’s gotta be something that'll really connect you. Reading is amazing when you enjoy what you’re reading._

_And, yeah, I’d maybe want to kiss you. Do you have a problem with that?_

_—Spot_

.. 

Sean is literally going to collapse. He doesn’t like it, this feeling in his chest whenever he thinks about Ant — something that happens _far_ too often. 

God. He wants to _kiss_ him.

“Are you okay?” Smalls asks from the opposite side of the couch, bringing Sean out of his thoughts. He realizes that he’s literally holding his chest, his heart beating fast.

“Yeah,” Sean says, lowering his hand and clicking off his phone. His little sister doesn’t look like she believes him, but she turns back towards the television, where Sean is _supposed_ to be watching a movie with her. He’d been so focused on Ant, though, he doesn’t even know what they’re watching.

He thinks that he understands, for the first time ever, the phrase “head over heels”.

He thinks that he is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's a long one. enjoy <3

October always means auditions for the winter musical. It always turns into a little bit of a family production — Medda directs the musicals, always, and Jack’s been making sets since he was adopted, and Smalls joins him for every production. Sean has _no_ artistic ability, so he’s always helped with direction — mostly just for something to do after school other than sit at home alone during their play rehearsals. 

It’s the same for this year. They’re doing the musical _Bring It On_ , and Sean is admittedly a little nervous about his mother choosing a show that’s traditionally so dance heavy, but his fears are immediately quenched when Albert DaSilva himself sits down next to him as he sits next to his mother and waits for the auditions to start. Albert pokes him in the arm, the same way he would if they were in English class.

“You’re mother directs, right?” Albert asks, grinning over at Sean.

“Yeah,” Sean replies, grinning back at Albert. Albert has the type of smile that is just infectious, Sean thinks. “I’m assisting. We’re actually saving that seat for our choreographer, though, for the dancing audition but —”

“I know,” Albert says, cutting Sean off with a light smack to his knee. “I’m him.”

“You dance, DaSilva?” Sean asks, and for some reason his mind jumps straight to Ant — he knows that Ant dances and for some reason the link in common between Albert and Ant makes Sean feel slightly jittery.

“Have been since I was born,” Albert says with another poke in the arm. “Tony’s helping me out — you know Tony?” Albert asks and Sean gives him a little nod, forcing a smile onto his face. “— but I’m choreographing your show. Hope I won’t disappoint.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you will,” Sean says, completely knowing that this is bordering on _flirting_ , that he’s _flirting_ with _Albert_ , who’s a boy, which is _insane_.

All in all, Sean’s actually looking forward to spending the extra time with Albert.

…

The thing is, the more Sean emails Ant, the more he is _constantly_ thinking about him, and the more he is _constantly_ wanting to email him. All of the cell service in the school is awful, and so that’s why Sean finds himself in the school library during lunch, waiting for what feels like ten hours for his email account to load up. He just wants to email Ant back, that’s all — they had been talking about superheroes, and Sean’s never been that into comics or superhero movies, but he loves reading Ant’s rambles about Captain America.

He’s just able to press the reply button when someone sits down hard and loud in the chair next to him. Sean lets out an embarrassing little yelp and quickly minimizes the tab.

“Sean!” the person next to him says, and it’s Jack, of course, because Sean can’t get a minute alone, not with Jack in his life.

“Jack!” Sean says, mimicking Jack’s energy and looking over at his brother.

“You didn’t come to lunch,” Jack says, furrowing his brows and reaching a hand out, like he can’t quite believe that Sean’s there. “I called the police, there’s a SWAT team looking for you and a 24/7 search party.”

“I just needed to check an assignment and the internet, you know…” Sean says, trying to be as casual as possible. He wants to look over at the computer screen, just so he can probably exit out, but he also doesn’t want Jack to be suspicious about anything.

Why is he so _cagey_?

“Hm,” Jack says, his eyes flicking from Sean to the computer and then back again. “Well, can you come to lunch?” he asks, and Sean is prepared to outright reject him before Jack adds, “ _Please_. Kath and Davey are killing me out there. I need you.”

“Very likely,” Sean replies, trying not to smile at the fact that Jack is _upset_ at Kath and Davey. Yeah, they’ve been flirting recently, quite obviously, but Sean doesn’t see why that equates to Jack being annoyed at them.

“ _Please_ ,” Jack repeats, giving Sean big eyes in an attempt to soften Sean’s heart or something like that. Sean does realize, though, that the two of them _really_ bother Jack. Maybe it’s something about the tight line that appears between Jack’s eyebrows. Maybe it’s something about how Jack worries his bottom lip.

If he’d have to guess, Sean would think that Jack’s _jealous_ of Kath and Davey. And, for all that Jack annoys him, Jack’s still his brother. He can help him out for one lunch period.

Sean groans, but he gets up and grabs his backpack and follows Jack towards the exit.

…

There are very few people Sean actually can’t stand. There are people that he doesn’t _like_ , but very few he actually hates. 

Morris Delancey falls into the category of people he actually hates. It’s not just Morris — him and his little brother Oscar act like they own the school, simply because they’re the nephews of the school’s vice principal, Weasel. Honestly, with the amount of donations their father gives, they’re probably very close to _literally_ owning the school. Sean thinks that any more hot air into their heads will knock them over.

Morris, though, is a decent dancer, and strong as well, and they _need_ strong dancers for _Bring It On_ , so Sean has the pleasure of working with Morris for the next few months.

At least, Sean tries to remind himself at every rehearsal, he doesn’t really have to work that closely with Morris. Sean’s not involved with any of the choreography. He’s fine.

Except —

“Sean, can we talk?” Morris asks, when the cast is taking a ten minute break.

Sean looks up from the script he’s been looking at to glance over at his mother. Medda gives him a slight nod and he wishes she would _not_ so he would actually have an excuse to not talk to _Morris Delancey_ one-on-one. Trying not to sigh so loudly, Sean stands up from his seat and gives a thin smile to Morris.

“Sure,” Sean tells Morris flatly, taking in Morris’ skinny but sturdy frame. When Morris turns to walk out of the left wing of the theatre, Sean follows, despite his better judgement. The sooner he talks to Morris, the sooner he can _stop_ talking to Morris. Besides, it’s probably something about the play — Sean’s slightly more approachable than Medda, because he’s the same age as most of the cast. Sean can be professional for five minutes.

“You’re friends with that new girl, right? Kath?” Morris asks, once him and Sean are alone in the hallway. Sean takes in the slight fidgeting Morris is doing, playing with the edge of his shirt sleeve but also puffing his chest out, just a little bit, like he’s trying to play it cool, but he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” Sean says shortly, looking directly at Morris. If Morris is nervous about something, Sean will definitely use that to his advantage — he wants this conversation, whatever it’s about, to be over quickly.

“She’s cute,” Morris says, and Sean’s mind flashes to Jack and Davey and the slow dance they’ve been circling around her. Sean wonders how they would react to Morris’ sentiment.

“I guess,” Sean replies, not really knowing why Morris is talking about Kath to him.

“Not that you would know, right, _Spot_?”

It takes a second for Sean to really register what Morris is saying, but once he does, his stomach drops, all the way to the floor. 

_Not that he would know_ — right, because he _doesn’t like girls_ . Except, how the hell would _Morris Delancey_ know that? His own brother doesn’t know that.

And then Sean goes over the statement again in his head and — 

There are only a handful of people in their school who know Sean as Spot. Morris isn’t one of them. He doesn’t think, for a second, that _Morris_ could be Ant, because Morris says his statement with a mix of innocence and venom.

Ant wouldn’t do that.

Sean doesn’t think Ant would do that.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sean says. He’s trying to remain calm on the outside, shoving his hands deep into his pants pockets. His brain, though, is flipping out. He has _no_ idea what to do in this situation.

“Ant knows, though, right?” Morris says. Sean didn’t think his heart could drop any further, but it feels like it fell straight to the floor. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to show anyone.”

“Good —” Sean starts to say, before it really hits him. “ _Show anyone_?” he repeats, anger starting to bubble in his stomach. _Show_ anyone?

“I used the computer in the library after you,” Morris says, and it hits Sean, for the first time, that he didn’t log out of the computer after Jack coerced him into going to lunch. “I saw your emails.”

Sean doesn’t even want to think about the implications of that. Instead, he’d much rather focus on the situation at hand and the anger that’s starting to fester.

“And you what, took fucking screenshots of them?” Morris doesn’t react and Sean realizes that that’s _exactly_ what Morris did. “What the fuck,” he says, and it’s not even a question because he doesn’t know what else to say in this scenario. He would have never thought this scenario would ever _happen_. He feels trapped.

“I won’t show them. Or tell anyone,” Morris tells Sean, like that’s supposed to be reassuring. Like Morris wasn’t the one to go through his emails in the first place. Like Morris didn’t _take pictures of his emails._

“Then why bring it up?” Sean snaps, focusing his energy into not just _punching_ Morris right now.

“It’s just — you’re friends with Kath, right? So how about setting us up?” Morris suggests.

Sean wants to laugh. Right. Set up _Kath_ and _Morris_. Even if there wasn’t his brother and one of his closest friends crushing on Kath, Sean would like to believe that Kath would have better taste than _Morris_ _Delancey_. He’s not extremely close with her yet, but Sean would like to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Except Sean’s heart is in his throat because _someone knows._

“Setting you up?” Sean repeats. He feels like he’s dreaming. There’s no way that someone knows his deepest secret and wants Sean to _set him up with a girl_ in exchange for him not ruining Sean’s life.

“You have Denton, right?” Morris asks, and Sean gives a little jerky nod. “Because she’s in my class. She’s really good at English. Maybe the three of us can get together and read _Dracula_ or something and then you slowly stop coming around and we —”

“No offence, I don’t think she would enjoy kissing _shit_ ,” Sean says, letting out a bitter laugh, even though Morris has something huge to lord over him.

“I mean… I _could_ show people the screenshots,” Morris says. 

The sentence lingers in the air for a second before Sean shoots back, “And I _could_ punch your nose in.” He doesn’t even care by this point. The anger feels like it’s rising up in him, completely brimming at his throat.

“Did you know, as vice principal, my uncle has access to your legal information?” Morris says, like that means anything to Sean. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sean asks, the anger threatening to spill over even more.

“I mean, I know about your past, uh… anger issues,” Morris says. It rings in Sean’s ear.

“You want to know about my anger issues?” Sean says, shoving Morris in the shoulder. At the same time, though, Sean’s heart is pounding. He _knows,_ rationally, that he’s adopted, once and for all, and that Medda wouldn’t go back on her word, but there’s still a part of Sean that feels like his twelve year old self, the kid that didn’t know how to contain his anger, that got tossed from foster house to foster house for picking fights and letting them get out of control. 

He knows that Morris is full of hot air. It still stings.

Morris winces, rubbing his arm, obviously dramatising it. “You know, I was just about to go to my uncle’s office.”

“Stop,” Sean says immediately. He hates that he’s giving into this, but he hates the thought that he might have everything destroyed by this kid who thinks he deserves a pretty girl. “I’ll… I’ll talk to Kath.”

“Great!” Morris says, pulling a little slip of paper from his pocket and handing it to Sean. “Here’s my number. Uh — not like that, but.”

“Don’t worry,” Sean says, ripping the paper out of Morris’ hand and stuffing it deep in his pocket. He makes no plans to text Morris. “You’re the furthest thing from my type.”

“Oh yeah, you like insects, huh?” 

Sean’s blood feels cold. He wants to punch Morris in the stomach, he wants to finish this whole thing before it even starts, but there’s too much on the line, now. It’s not just him being outed and maybe Morris using his pull to get Sean in trouble at school.

This is about Ant, too. Sean doesn’t want to risk that.

… 

It hits Sean, even more, because he spends too much time at rehearsals watching Albert teach the cast their choreography — 

A dancer, in their grade, who hates English class, who usually goes by a nickname… 

Sean isn’t particularly _close_ to Albert, and he doesn’t know that much about him, but everything he _does_ know sort of just… lines up. Sean knows that Albert’s been dancing since he was born, practically, and he _is_ in eleventh grade with Sean. He’s made his feelings on their English class pretty clear, and Sean knows that a lot of people call him Al, most of the time.

Oh.

Sena thinks about that. He’s never _really_ considered Albert _like that._ Albert’s cute, he supposes. And Albert never fails to make Sean smile. There’s also just Sean’s gut feeling — the little swoop in his stomach he gets when he stares at Albert.

He’s pretty sure Albert is Ant.

Holy crap.

…

_Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Morris Delancey_

_Unknown Number: If you could let me know when Katherine is available I can tell you when works for me and we could set something up_

_Unknown Number: Just let me know as soon as possible_

…

“Are you doing anything for Halloween?” Albert asks, poking Sean in the arm.

“There’s still like a whole week before Halloween,” Sean notes. He also notes that Albert is early for their English class for once, instead of coming just right on time. 

“ _Yeah_ , but ‘tis the season! I love Halloween.”

And that sentiment makes Sean’s heart do a cartwheel. He sort of hates that that’s his reaction, but at the same time, his brain is just thinking of Ant. About how Albert might be Ant.

“I can’t say I relate,” Sean replies. Part of him wants to just nod along with Albert and say that he loves Halloween, but another, bigger part of him wants to tell Albert that he _doesn’t_ like Halloween so that Albert can make the connection between him and being Spot and then they can — 

Well, they’d do something.

“Well, I’m having a Halloween party, so you should definitely come,” Albert offers, which makes Sean’s heart beat a little bit faster. Isn’t that like Albert _asking him out?_ Which is insane.

“You’re having a party?”

“Yeah, I just decided,” Albert says, leaning in to poke Sean’s arm again as the bell rings from overhead. “My stepdad won’t mind, and my mom’s probably going to be out of town, so.” 

Sean is _buzzing_ because _Albert_ has a stepdad and _Ant_ has a stepdad and — 

“I’ll be there, then,” Sean says immediately, even though he’s not really particularly a party person. Except, if Albert is specifically _asking_ him, that’s like _Ant_ is specifically asking him, and Sean would do almost anything for Ant. It’s a little bit pathetic.

“Great. I wouldn’t want to not see you,” Albert says, dropping his voice to a whisper as Denton gets up in front of the class. “That doesn’t really make sense. I mean, I wouldn’t want to — I don’t know.”

Sean laughs.

…

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 23 at 11:24 PM

 **SUBJECT** : thinking about…

_…Halloween. Because ‘tis the season. More importantly, I’m thinking about Halloween parties and how you should go to one, even if you don’t think you’d like it. You deserve to go out sometimes, Spot! Treat yourself. We don’t even have school the next day, so you’d better actually go out. Even if it’s not to a party. Go to IHOP or something._

_—Ant_

.

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Oct 24 at 8:18 AM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: thinking about…

_Just because you said so, I think I’ll go out on Halloween this year :)_

_—Spot_

_…_

Sean and Jack go to Albert’s house together and within three seconds, Jack leaves him to look for Kath. As he watches Jack’s suit jacket disappear into the mix of other people, Sean immediately feels a little bit out of his depth. It’s not like he’s antisocial, but he’s not his brother. He’d much rather stay at home than go out, if he’s being entirely honest. Still, Albert invited him specifically, which fills him with a weird tingly feeling.

Sean squeezes past people on Albert’s lawn, and it feels like at least half of their grade is here. He really wishes he was with anyone he knows — he’d even take Race, right now. He manages, though, to get into the house. Once he reaches the kitchen, he can spot Albert’s red hair, and it’s embarrassing how quickly he heads for him.

“Hey,” he says, once he reaches Albert. Albert turns to him, clad in an almost-skin tight suit and a grin on his face.

“You came!” he says, throwing an arm over Sean’s shoulder. 

“Don’t sound surprised,” Sean says, hyper aware of how Albert’s hand rests on his shoulder. “I thought this was a costume party. What are you supposed to be?” he asks, taking the question as an excuse to blatantly check Albert out.

“I’m Black Widow!” Albert says, his mouth dropping open a little bit. He says it like it should be obvious, and Sean gives a little slow nod, unconvinced. “ _Natasha_.”

“Right,” Sean says, because it looks to him that Albert just wore all black and called it a costume. He knows what Black Widow looks like — he’s looked up all of the Marvel characters, out of interest from Ant’s rants. His brain is pinging at the costume, however lazy it is, because this means Albert likes Marvel — right?

“You could have been my Bucky. I should’ve asked you earlier. Look, Tony is my Cap!” Albert says, turning around and moving Sean with him. “Tones!” 

Race, talking to someone else from a little while away, looks up. His costume is more than just mono colored clothes and his hair — he’s at least wearing an actual Captain America costume. Albert throws Race a thumbs up and a grin and Race rolls his eyes and continues his conversation.

“Besides, what’s _your_ costume?” Albert says, pulling away from Sean to look at his whole body. “You’re literally wearing a hoodie and jeans.”

Sean reaches into his pocket and pulls out sunglasses. He puts them on and pulls his hoodie strings to make his hood tighter. Albert looks unimpressed.

“I’m Damian,” Sean explains, taking the sunglasses off to roll his eyes at Albert. “From Mean Girls? ‘She doesn’t even go here’?”

“Cute,” Albert says. Sean tries to pat down the flutters in his heart at that. “But lazy.”

“Hey,” Sean says, hitting Albert’s arm playfully. “I didn’t have that much time to think of a good costume.”

“At least I said cute,” Albert says, and Sean hopes that his grin doesn’t give that much away.

“Spot,” someone hisses right by Sean’s ear, pulling him out of his conversation with Albert. Sean turns, and Jack is there, because of _course_. “Did you know Davey was coming?”

“I thought he specifically _wasn’t_ coming,” Sean says, taking in Jack pouting and tugging at his tie.

“Well, he _is_ , and he —” Jack lets out a little groan and grabs Sean’s wrist, pulling him along with him. Sean gives an apologetic wave to Albert, who looks amused, and allows Jack to pull him along.

“Davey,” Jack says, once the back of Davey’s curls is visible. “Hey.”

Davey turns around to face them, lighting up a little. He’s wearing a simple white shirt and jeans with a leather jacket thrown over it. Sean takes that in, and he takes in the red cup in Davey’s hand, and he shifts from one foot to the other. Sean’s known Davey for years. He hasn’t really known him to be the partying type.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, giving him an easy grin, “Sean.”

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Jack tells Davey. If Sean didn’t think better of Jack, he’d think that there’s a little bit of a whine to Jack’s voice.

“I wasn’t going to,” Davey admits, and as he says it, Kath walks up, right next to Davey. “Kath invited me, though,” he says, gesturing, “so here I am.”

“Look,” Kath says gesturing to her pink jacket and black jeans and then to Davey’s attire, “I’m a Pink Lady and he’s a greaser.”

“Cute,” Jack says, his tone completely flat. His expression goes a little sour, his lips pressed into a small smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.

“What are you guys?” Kath asks, seemingly not noticing Jack’s less-than-happy gaze.

“Damian from Mean Girls,” Sean answers, tugging at the strings of his hoodie as he glances at Jack. Jack’s wearing bunny ears and Sean _knows_ they aren’t real, but they seem to droop with Jack’s body.

“A party animal,” Jack deadpans, wiping his palms on his suit pants. He doesn’t look like he feels much like a party animal. Still, Kath laughs at Jack’s bad pun and it makes Jack look significantly happier.

The four of them stare at each other for an awkward moment before Kath slides an arm around Davey’s waist. Sean can see the moment Jack notices — he can see the way his entire face falls. In the next moment, he says, “I gotta —” and turns, beginning to walk away. Kath and Davey both turn to look at Sean. 

“What —?” Kath starts, a frown on her face.

“I’m gonna —” Sean says, gesturing at the direction Jack went towards. He gives Kath and Davey an awkward half-wave and then he follows Jack. 

He can still see Jack’s retreating back, and Sean follows him all the way outside.

“Hey,” he says, jogging a little bit to catch up with his brother. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I don’t want to be here right now,” Jack says, his tone still stiff and cold. “I’m going home.”

“What, you’re going to walk?” Sean says, trying to keep pace with Jack’s long legs. He lets out a little laugh, because it’s freezing, and it’s barely 9PM, and they live a couple of miles away.

“Yep,” Jack says, like that’s obvious.

Sean’s heart gives a little pang as he thinks about Albert, but Jack’s his brother, before anything he has with Albert. Sean keeps on walking alongside Jack.

…

 **FROM** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **TO** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Nov 1 at 3:14 AM

 **SUBJECT** : whoever made halloween a school night is the literal worst

_So I did go out, as requested by you, and then when I was finished going out I got inspired by you and decided to start watching Marvel movies and I think I’m too invested now to stop._

_You may have a point. They’re alright._

_Except now it’s 3AM and I don’t particularly want to go to be, but it’s late and we have school in like 4 hours. I really should sleep._

_Maybe I’ll get my mom to let me skip tomorrow. It’s not like I’ll be missing much._

_And then I can finish watching the Marvel movies. You’re a bad influence, you know that?_

_—Spot_

.

 **FROM** : downattheraces@gmail.com

 **TO** : boyfrombrighton@gmail.com

 **DATE** : Nov 1 at 5:23 PM

 **SUBJECT** : Re: whoever made halloween a school night is the literal worst

_Boo for you staying up late. That’s not good!!!!_

_But yay for you watching Marvel movies!!! What are you up to? Has your soul been crushed yet? Tell me everything._

_Also, I one hundred percent agree with the subject. It should be a national holiday._

_—Ant_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have so little free time now im sorry  
> but here's this! and i have some free afternoons soon so hopefully i will get back into writing this :)

Sean seems to be spending most of his time after school in his room, on his computer, agonizing over what to reply to Ant. Today’s no different, though Sean is alone in the house — Smalls has her basketball practice, Jack is at school late, working on painting sets, and Medda is out shopping. Around twenty minutes into his agonizing, his mother texts him — 

_I have someone coming over to work on choreography for the musical. I’m running late at the store and will probably be around ten minutes but please let him in if he comes over before I get home._

Sean lets out a groan because that means he’s going to have to endure ten long minutes of his mother’s guest before he can go back to agonizing over his careful, careful word choice of his email to Ant. 

He rereads the text, though, and he realizes that someone’s coming over to work on _choreography_ — and that could very well be Albert. Which makes Sean’s heart feel a little funny, because he’s like 80% sure Albert is Ant, and _he would like to kiss Ant very much_. Which means that he would like to kiss Albert very much. And Albert is going to be in his house, with no one else around, and —

Sean slams down his laptop and takes the stairs quickly, practically launching himself down them. When he gets to the bottom of the steps he remembers to _think_ for a second and stops himself, taking a breath and brushing at barely-visible lint on his pants. He takes a seat on the bottom of the steps, because honestly, he’s not _that_ desperate that he’s going to open the door and wait on their porch.

Yet.

Within another few moments, there’s a knock on their door and Sean scrambles up. He reminds himself to _breathe_ for a second before he sees Albert.

“Hi,” Sean says, opening the front door to find Albert there.

Except Albert, instead of his brown eyes and red hair, has blond hair and blue eyes and Albert is actually _Race_ and Sean deflates a little bit inside. He then immediately feels stupid, because _Jesus_ , he barely knows Albert. Why is he so obsessed with him?

“Hi,” Race says, smiling easily at him. Sean doesn’t return one.

“Jack isn’t here,” he tells Race dumbly. Race shrugs.

“I’m here to see your mom,” he says.

“Oh,” Sean says, running his tongue over his teeth. He remembers Albert saying that Race was helping out with the choreography for the show, but Sean thought it was more like an assistant gig. He definitely didn’t think that it would warrant Race coming over to Sean’s house. “She’s running late, she said. Will probably be like ten, twenty minutes.”

“Oh,” Race says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Sean feels a cold pass through him that he’s deciding to blame on the October air. “I don’t really have a way to get home. Denton dropped me off.”

Sean blinks, registering that Race has been standing outside all of this time. “Do you want to come in?” he asks, more of a pleasantry than a real question.

“Sure,” Race replies. Sean moves aside to let Race into his house and then he quickly curses every god there is while he closes the door as slowly as he can.

When Sean turns back around, he’s faced with Racetrack Higgins and no one else there to save him.

Sean doesn’t even need one hand to count the number of times he’s really spent alone with Race since they re-met, in high school. 

The first time had been when they had first realized they were in the same school. It was the first day of high school, and Sean wasn’t sure it was _actually_ Race when his name was called. Denton had been their teacher, and had split them up randomly into groups to fill out ‘get-know-you’ papers. Of course, Sean had gotten paired with Race, because that’s the sort of luck he had.

“Spot?” Race had said, looking something between scared and nervous. Probably a healthy combination of both.

“ _Race_?” Sean had replied and, before he could stop himself, he had also blurted out, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m being fostered in the district,” Race had said with a shrug, looking over their sheet of paper like it was that simple.

 _It was not that simple_.

“By who?” Sean had demanded, not really knowing why the sight of Race was making him feel so wound up. It had felt like a reminder of when he was a dumb kid, bouncing from foster home to foster home, barely lasting more than a month or two, always getting into dumb fights and never forming a real relationship with anyone.

Until Race. Because he and Race had ended up at nearby foster houses when they were eight and had become instant friends. They would sneak out almost every night, which was a stupidly risky thing to do, but it was worth it to hang out with each other for a couple of hours. And suddenly, Sean hadn’t wanted to get into fights and get sent away again.

Of course, that had only lasted for three years until Sean started fighting again and had gotten sent away.

That last one had lasted, though, and Sean had forgotten — for the most part — about Race.

“Denton,” Race had said, with a shrug and a glance towards their teacher. Sean had opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but instead he had stayed quiet. “Look,” Race had said, looking back up at Sean and making his heart skip a beat, “it’s clear you didn’t expect to see me here. I didn’t expect to see you either. We don’t have to be friends. I mean, we’re not the same people we were four years ago, so.”

Sean hadn’t even known what to respond to that, so he hadn’t. That’s what his fear was — what his fear _still_ is. He’s terrified that he’s still the same angry kid he was when he was eleven. If he’s able to become friends with Race again, just like they were when they were kids, doesn’t that mean he hasn’t really changed?

.

The second time had been right after lunch, because _of course,_ Jack had befriended Race, like a moth to a light. Jack had introduced them during lunch, bringing Race over to the table Sean had claimed for their little friend group of Davey, Sarah, Charlie, Jack, and Sean.

“We could use a sixth person, right?” Jack had said, bumping shoulders with Sean as both he and Race had tried not to stare at each other. “I think you two would really get along, Spot,” Jack had said, and Sean had almost bitten a hole through his tongue.

So, after lunch, they had walked to their next class together — because they had to have _two_ classes together, just one would have been too easy — and Sean had admitted that he hadn't really told Jack about his life before he was adopted. That it’d be awkward to explain that they were friends before.

“I get it,” Race had said, but he had paused when they reached their biology classroom. “So you want us to have just met.”

Sean had repressed a sigh, and then he had stuck out a hand to Race. Race had taken it, frowning, as Sean said, “Hi, I’m Sean Conlon. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Tony Higgins,” Race had replied.

And then they had gone into class and tried to sit as far away from each other as possible, with Sean resolving to not spend any more time with Race than absolutely necessary.

.

And he didn’t, because the third time is now.

And Sean is staring at Race stupidly.

“So,” Race says, putting his hands behind his back and resuming his rocking back and forth.

“This is painful,” Sean says, letting out a little nervous chuckle.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Race says, with a little shrug, like everything about their relationship is that simple. When Sean is silent, Race bites his lip and then continues, “I know that you sorta wanna _forget_ your past or whatever,” Race says, rolling his eyes a little bit, “but I don’t get why we can’t just start over? Forget it all and just act like we met in ninth grade? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I don’t want to _forget_ ,” Sean says quickly, his heartbeat quickening. He’s been trying to explain — unsuccessfully — for two years that he _wants_ to be friends with Race. He wants to have a friendship with someone where they just simply _clicked_ — he and Race _were_ that. 

He’s just scared of the idea that maybe he hasn’t changed.

“I just don’t get why you hate me,” Race says, smiling bitterly. Sean pauses.

“I don’t —” he says, before it hits him that he hasn’t been the friendliest to Race. Tolerating, at most, but not really friendly. “Race,” he says, feeling guilty. “ _Tony_. I don’t hate you. I just… you were a big part of my childhood, and I hate the idea that I might not have changed.”

“I mean,” Race says, pausing a little bit and standing still, looking at the ground with a shrug. “You have. I can tell that.”

Sean wants to make a pained noise, but he keeps it in and instead tells Race, “The idea of being friends with you — I mean, if I can still be friends with you doesn’t that mean I _haven’t_?”

“ _I’ve_ changed too, though,” Race says, and Sean has to give him that, at least. “And you had good parts to yourself from when we were younger that didn’t change and that don’t have to. So maybe the part of you that was my friend was a _good_ part of you.”

Sean’s quiet for a minute, looking down at the ground rather than at Race. Finally, he forces himself to look up and admit, “You’re right.”

“So, d’you wanna be friends? For real?” Sean hesitates in answering, and Race adds, “Honestly, this pretending we weren’t friends before is stupid in my opinion. We could just be friends again.”

“I’m not sure I know how to do that,” Sean says, still looking down.

“I think we could figure it out,” Race tells him, his voice barely above a whisper. Sean looks up, and something in Race’s eyes — the undisputable softness to them — makes him jolt a little bit. 

“I think we could,” he replies, and he really means it.


End file.
